


Ranking

by glassdemons



Series: A Bosmer Named Nerevar [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdemons/pseuds/glassdemons
Summary: The Tribes have named him Nerevarine. The focus shifts to the halls of the Great Houses of Vvardenfell, starting with the one Nerevar was adopted into: Telvanni.Divayth has managed to force the council to assemble for a meeting. The weight of the reality of his situation is starting to become apparent to Nerevar.
Series: A Bosmer Named Nerevar [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125314
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. The Council

The sun was setting, turning the sky a brilliant red behind the mushroom towers of Sadrith Mora, leaving them dark and menacing, as though they weren't enough so already. Nerevar adjusted his robes, tugging at the long sleeves. The tailor had done well, but it was certainly a different style than he was used to. Divayth bent over to assist him with his collar, then licked his thumb and smoothed down some frizzy hair that hadn't quite reached Nerevar's ponytail. Nerevar looked up at him with all the nerves in the world, but Divayth ignored the expression. "Are you ready, then?" he asked, straightening Nerevar's already straight sash. When Nerevar didn't answer, he huffed, "Come now, you're my Mouth and more. They're not going to eat you alive. They're incapable of so much as putting a scratch on you."

"You hear stories," Nerevar muttered, averting his gaze.

"And you should have _also_ heard the stories about how I am the single most powerful mage that deigns to walk this plane and enter their little village." Divayth's armor certainly seemed to emphasize the point, looking himself as much a foreboding silhouette as the towers behind him. He cracked a smile. "And you're the second, so you have nothing to be scared of. I'll be right beside you, and I'll do the talking."

Nerevar forced a nod, taking one stiff step, then another, down the hill and into the mushroom forest. 

\--- 

"I will use my right to join the council tonight," Divayth said as he settled into his chair. A handful of magisters and mouths sat around a gnarled wooden table. Nerevar smiled at Felisa as he sat beside her and looked out at the other councilors he had all met, mostly in passing. Neloth was the youngest to actually have a seat on the council, and looked the most disgusted, aside from Divayth himself, at having been called into a meeting. The archmagister, who he had spoken to briefly, fixed at Nerevar with a look of pure, unblinking contempt. 

"And I suppose you'll be setting it aside in the morning?" snarled Dratha. 

"That is also my right," he said calmly. She rolled her eyes, sunk into her chair, but did not argue further. Felisa cast her a sympathetic glance, but said nothing. 

"And what, pray tell, is so important that you would not only pull us from our studies, but would join us yourself?" Neloth tilted his head to the side, his annoyance reaching every feature. 

"The elf you know as Meniv has moved up the ranks of our House quite quickly." Divayth let that settle in the air for a moment, sweeping his gaze across the table, and then said, "He should be named Hortator." 

Immediately there was more of an uproar than any small council had any right to make. Outlander, _bosmeri,_ no need for a Hortator-- 

Divayth raised a flaming hand, and the room fell silent. Nerevar stared at him with silent awe. He lowered his hand, though it continued to flame as he talked. "Allow me to explain. Mistress Dratha, you know the tales well. Here is an outlander, who you know as Meniv." He turned and looked at the bosmer in question, ignoring the fear in his face. "I have checked the records. When the Imperials sent their prisoners to us, their ship held an elf named Nerevar. When we received them, there was no Nerevar, but a Meniv. Born under the sign the dragon, to uncertain parents, adopted by those descended from ashlanders who never thought he would see Morrowind, and have to think up a new name." A few hushed whispers, but Nerevar dare not look away from Divayth to see who was making them. "Would you like to tell us who Meniv really is?" 

"I named myself after the only other bosmer in our village," he answered, swallowing hard. "He took part in raising me." 

Divayth took his hand, gentle, gentle. Nerevar's breath hitched as he raised it to eye level. "And what is this ring?" 

"Moon-and-Star," Dratha breathed, brows furrowed as she leaned forward. 

Divayth pushed back Nerevar's sleeve, still holding his hand, to reveal the fading corprus scars. "Additionally, Nerevar is the first and only patient of mine to survive corprus. As you can see, the scarring matches the spread pattern you've all seen on those unfortunate enough to be afflicted. The same cure was given to twenty others. The rest of them, unfortunately, perished." 

"How do we know that you didn't just burn those scars onto him," Neloth said, head propped up on his fist, "and never gave your supposed cure to anyone? Or killed everyone that lived that wouldn't play along with your delusion?" 

Nerevar braced for Divayth to fly into a rage as he pushed his chair back and stood. Instead, slowly, mechanically, as though he was stalking his prey, he walked around the table to stand over Neloth. Neloth's ears flattened as Divayth leaned down, inches from his face. 

"Master Neloth," he said, voice low and tight, ice practically forming from his words. "Did you not study in Tel Fyr for some odd years?" 

Neloth did not answer, fiery hot glare nearly burning Nerevar alive from across the table. 

"Do you dare imply, to my face, that I am not doing everything in my power to heal our blighted land? Unlike each of you, who ignore the world?" 

Nerevar prepared to jump to Divayth's defense, shifting his weight, ready to launch himself across the table at Neloth as the two stared each other down. He took in the others: every one of them ready to bolt at the first sign of sparks. 

Neloth turned away. 

Divayth placed a hand on his head, though unlike when he did it to Nerevar, this looked far from gentle. Neloth's scowl deepened into a snarl. "If you _ever_ imply that I'd do anything to harm my patients, I'll put an ice spike through your skull. Understand?" 

"Yes, sera," he spat through gritted teeth. 

The others seemed to settle down, though Nerevar remained at the edge of his seat. 

"We need a Hortator," Divayth said, still standing behind Neloth. "House Telvanni will be the ones to cure corprus, and the ones to defeat it at its source. The other Houses will be in our debt. If they yield to him--and they will yield--it will be _our_ Hortator that they follow." 

"I will vote for it," said Aryon, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. All turned to him, and he shrugged. "This seems wise. Profitable, even." 

"That it does," agreed Felisa. "My Mistress yields to her elder's decision. You have the vote of Therana." 

"Does she even know that you're here?" Neloth sneered, resulting in a snort from Baladas and a sharp smack in the shoulder from Dratha. 

"It was determined by the estate that I would be the one to respond to the summons," she said, raising her chin. 

"Careful, girl," Gothren warned. "You are not on this council. Though, given the... _delicate_ condition of Therana, I am inclined to agree with the estate's decision." 

"Thank you," Nerevar whispered to Felisa. She flashed him a smile. 

"I have worked with..." Baldras faltered on the name. "...With Nerevar for some time. He is competent, he is familiar with our history, and quite capable of holding his own. I have no reason to disagree with the notion." 

"Thank you, sera," Nerevar said, loud enough this time for the table to hear him. "And Master Aryon." 

Divayth smiled, somehow finding even better posture than before. "And the rest of you?" 

Dratha gave Neloth a glance before leaning forward, steepling her hands on the table. Nerevar held his breath. She opened her mouth to speak, only for Neloth to interrupt, "The idea of this prophecy is and always has been superstitious nonsense, if you ask me. I've never believed in it. I'm not about to start now." Nerevar wondered passively if Dratha was going to strangle him with the belt of his own robe, which her expression suggested she was considering, but decided it wouldn't be worth it to stop her if she did. "However, if it lets me get out of this room and back to work, sure. Fine." Nerevar found himself pondering if Dratha would be the next owner of Drake's Pride. "He can be Hortator, and maybe it'll do the rest of you some good. It has no effect on me." 

"I disagree," said Dratha. "The choosing of a Hortator is no light manner. Do you truly wish to have three halls, one who calls yourself Nerevar?" 

Nerevar thought of the Urshilaku, their hopes all placed on him. "Yes, muthsera. I do." 

She raised her eyebrows at that. "How quaint." 

"This is against doctrine," Gothren warned. 

"What enemies could we make more powerful than us?" Neloth asked. 

"Hush!" Dratha spat. "You are too young to know of what the Tribunal are capable of! Too full of pride to know what you deal in!" 

Gothren, at the end of the table, smirked, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed. 

"What do the ashlanders say?" 

"They say that I am Nerevarine." Nerevar once again held up his ring. "I have recovered the ring from where it was lost, and, clearly, I survived. I brought it back to the Cavern of the Incarnate, and received my blessings." 

Dratha, for a long moment, was silent. Hands behind his back, Divayth waited patiently for her response. Finally, she sighed. "You are not my first choice. Unfortunately, I suppose that I'll have to make do with what I've been given, and you have proven yourself relatively competent when I ask things of you. Fine. Do _not_ disappoint me." 

Before Nerevar could thank her, Gothren stood. "Is this where we've fallen, then? Taking orders from Fyr?" 

"I have taken no orders," Dratha spat back. "Use your brains, s'wit. Even if Divayth were not here, we would have no choice but to give Nerevar our approval. It's the logical choice, and our duty." 

"Our duty?" He's laughed incredulously. "Should I give you to the Redorans? Two of you have trained under Fyr, and you would say that his influence is meaningless here?" 

"House Telvanni can't afford to ignore the problems outside our door forever," Aryon said. "He's not the only one to have realized that." 

"There's much to be gained if he takes the fight within Ghostfence," reasoned Baladas. "Say the cultists are eliminated. We would have claim to the area, no? Where the dwemer made their last stand." 

Neloth leaned his chair back so far Nerevar wondered if it would flip over. "It's really not going to hurt anything. It wouldn't make a difference, Gothren. Let him play Hortator and get himself killed and be done with it." 

"You're all heart, Neloth," Nerevar muttered. 

"I'm _right!"_ he snapped back. 

"This is not a decision one can make in minutes," Gothren said, shaking his head. "I must think on this." 

"For how long?" Divayth challenged. There was a tone in his voice Nerevar couldn't identify. Beside him, Felisa scooted back, fear etched into her face. 

"He's not going to do it." Aryon rolled his eyes. "He'll be thinking on it until the end of the kalpa. 

"Is this true?" Divayth asked. 

Gothren hesitated, then sighed. "Meniv, you are Telvanni now. I ought to respect you as such, and so, I will give you a direct answer. No. I will never make you Hortator, no matter what you do, or how you prove yourself. If you are indeed the so-called ghost, you will have to fulfill your prophecies in your next incarnation. We need no Hortator." 

Aryon raised his hands in a shrug. Neloth let his head fall back with a groan. Dratha seemed to boil the air around her with her frustration. 

"I believe you misunderstand me," Divayth said, a smile on his face that did not reach his eyes. "Nerevar will be Hortator." 

_"I_ am Archmagister. _You_ are a wizard that refuses to stay on the council when it doesn't suit you, and then run off to leave us with the consequences. We are not afraid of you, Fyr!" His words were undermined by Felisa slipping quietly from her seat and backing herself against the wall. "We will not take orders from--" 

Vines leapt from the the air around him, grabbing at Gothren as he cast too late to strengthen his flesh. The rest of the council scrambled out of the way. He set fire to the vines, which turned to ebony as they tightened around him. A small hole in Oblivion, then another, tore open beside him, but there was a crunch, and then a spark of flame, and the archmagister turned to ash, falling through the vines that disappeared as he did. The tears into Oblivion sealed themselves back up, no longer needed. 

Divayth flicked his wrist, tugged at his gauntlet straps. "Always be on guard," he said to himself. He straightened up, put his hands behind his back, and said, "Nerevar will be Hortator. Dratha, I yield my title of archmagister to you. I remove myself from the council. Any further questions?" 

Felisa was frantically shaking her head. Divayth took in everyone's stunned expressions, nodded, and said, "Very well. May we all get to ignore each other for five centuries or more. Come, Nerevar, we have work to do." 

Divayth walked out of the room. Nerevar stood there, stunned. 

"I'm glad he did that," Aryon commented, breaking the silence. 

"I'm archmagister," Dratha said, her head cocked to the side and her mouth slightly open. "I can't say I don't deserve it, but I didn't expect him to give it to me." 

"Yeah. I've certainly earned it myself," Aryon said. Dratha nearly spat at him. 

"What am I going to tell the Mistress?" Felisa whispered, eyes stretched wide and empty. 

Neloth made his way to Nerevar. "I, too, am happy to see him dead. I hated dealing with that man." Before Nerevar could decide if Neloth was looking to gain anything, Neloth put his hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. He leaned down to whisper into his ear. "Divayth will not always be there to protect you," he growled. "Stay out of my way." He stepped back, patted his shoulder, forced a smile that was far from earnest. 

Nerevar's heart twisted with nerves as he looked up at Neloth. He was well aware of how pathetic it looked that Divayth had fought his battle for him, of how his first move as Hortator would be thanking another. 

"Nerevar!" Divayth called from down the hall. 

Neloth faked a gasp, fake smile melting into his usual sneer. "Daddy's calling." 


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerevar and Divayth make their way back to Tel Fyr, reflecting on the circumstances that led them to the council.

"That was the most embarrassing thing that I have ever experienced," Nerevar said as they left Sadrith Mora, Nerevar sprinting after Divayth.

"No, the most embarrassing thing you've ever experienced is almost sleeping with Neloth after he had conned you into killing someone for a fancy piece of fabric." Divayth did not slow his pace for Nerevar to catch up.

"We did _not_ almost sleep together!" Nerevar protested, ears burning.

Divayth took a pause at that, turning to look Nerevar up and down, an eyebrow arched. He shook his head, and continued on his way.

"They're never going to take me seriously," he said, getting back on track.

"You're my Mouth," answered Divayth. "You're an extension of myself. An insult to you is an insult to me."

"That's not how the council sees it! They're going to think I'm your puppet--"

"Let them." Divayth slowed, allowing Nerevar to finally catch up. He looked at him with a shrug. "We have what we needed. The other Houses will respect you for it, not ask questions. The new archmagister, however begrudgingly, supports you. Why are you looking at me like I've pulled your ear in front of the saints?"

"I'm sorry," Nerevar sighed, rubbing at his temples. "It's just... It's just that it was one thing for the two of us to talk about it. It's another entirely to have it starting."

Divayth came to a stop, placing a hand on Nerevar's shoulder. "Don't be afraid. You've come too far for that."

"But that was me," he said, twisting the ring on his hand. "Now everyone knows you're a heretic. When I was sick, you said... you said you didn't even believe the prophecy, and now here you are, killing the archmagister just to help me fulfill it. Why? Why me?"

"Someone was bound to kill him eventually."

"That's not what I'm asking, and you know it."

Divayth shook his head ever so slightly, and began their trek again. Nerevar followed in silence, listening to the leaves crunch, the wind blow through the trees. Finally, Divayth spoke: "I have eyes."

"Obviously."

"I can see that the Sixth House will kill us all if we do not act. The rest of the Telvanni may be happy isolating themselves for their own power, sure. I am content in solitude because I am occupied with damage control." There was a pause. Divayth looked up to the stars through the branches above them. "But nothing is working. I can't cure anyone, anyone but you, much less fast enough to keep up with the new cases after every single ash storm. And there's been more of those than there was even a handful of years ago."

Nerevar grimaced. That was true. Even in the short time he had been on Vvardenfell, he had noticed an uptick in the storms. He couldn't imagine how it would be in one year, two years...

"I cannot sit by and believe that the Tribunal are keeping us safe when the proof they're not is all around us. Have you seen the Ghostfence?"

"I have," Nerevar answered. "In my time with the Mage's Guild, I had to follow it for some time."

"Does that look like divine protection from three gods?" There was a rasp to Divayth's typically clear voice, making Nerevar's heart seize with concern. "Or does that look like a half-assed attempt at keeping believers, made by the only one that has had to deal with this so far? In your opinion. Think carefully."

Nerevar couldn't help but look around to make sure they were alone. "Are you suggesting that Vivec is the only one holding the line?"

"And he's not holding it very well, is he?"

"...No. He's not."

"Then before it all comes tumbling down, I'll take a chance on you."

"Why have the other members of the Tribunal left us to die?"

 _"Us,_ Nerevar? They have been actively trying to kill your people. Kill _you."_ He turned to show a small smile, gentle eyes, lit by the moons. "But, if they acknowledge that their people are dying, they are acknowledging their failures. They can't do that."

"Vivec might."

"I told you to stop reading that crap," he replied, but he wasn't angry. "My parents were alive before the ascension. I don't remember a time before. But believe me when I say it was nothing so fanciful, and if it were true, Vivec would be able to stop this. If he can, he's choosing not too, and once again, it falls to the people to save themselves."

"Were you not friends with Sotha Sil, once?" Nerevar asked, voice soft.

Divayth snorted. "Yes, we met on Artaeum, with others that would ignore the reality of the world around them. Sil and I haven't spoken in many years, after _I_ saved his life. He's not infallible." Another long silence fell over them, Divayth hacking branches down with his machete to make way through a particularly thick part of the swamp. "I don't care if they are gods," he said at last. "I don't care if they're punishing us, or if daedra are. What I care about is that you're here. You're off to a good start, and if things continue to go well, we might well convince the people of Vvardenfell to stop waiting to be saved and bring them to action."

"There's a lot to do from this point forward."

"And I'm not going to leave you to do it alone." Divayth reached out and took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze, the metal of his gauntlets cutting into Nerevar's fingers for just a moment before he let go.

"I wasn't trying to fuck Neloth, I _swear,"_ he blurted out, cheeks stinging with a blush once more.

Divayth started laughing, shielding his eyes from Nerevar's pitiful expression. "I am going to _personally_ find you some nice Ahemmusa boy to marry once this is over."

"You promise it's going to be over one day, then?"

"Oh, yes, Nerevar. Nothing lasts forever."


End file.
